Price of Fear
by LostandAlone22
Summary: When they're little, the boys gets sick, and John struggles with what to do.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me. They belong to Eric Kripke.

This is my newest story. I am still working on "Oglethorpe House," although I've given "Wrecked" a rest. I feel enough people have done a wonderful job on telling what happened after the crash.

Hope you enjoy the story.

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John looked into the rearview mirror for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes. He regretted the decision to put both of his boys in the backseat, but they needed each other. Having one of them in the front would have increased his anxiety more than he could afford. It had been days that had been sick, and while the Children's Tylenol was helping Dean, Sam was getting worse. His fever continued to climb, and there were gasps in his breath every few minutes. At least in the backseat, Dean could hold on to him, tell him if something wasn't right.

Noticing how little and vulnerable they looked, he sped up a little bit. He had made the decision sometime last night, when Sam's temperature had spiked to 102 degrees, that he needed more help. After waking Dean up by gently shaking his shoulders, he grabbed little Sammy up in his arms and walked as quickly as possible to the car. Dean got in, and he handed the younger child to him, instructing him to "watch out for Sammy." It was an old routine by now, but never had it been more important than that night.

After driving for a little bit more, listening only to the soft sounds of his sons breathing, he knew he needed to make sure they had a place to stay. He stopped at a payphone off of I-90, somewhere in the quiet northern part of Wisconsin. Dialing the number to one of his oldest friends, Jim Murphy, he waited with knots in his stomach. He had this feeling that they were running out. This was something that couldn't be fought with holy water, but at least it would be a soft bed and a familiar presence for the boys.

"Hello?" A familiar voice, but not one that he had expected, answered the phone.

"Caleb?" He asked. "I'm sorry. I must have dialed wrong. I was trying to reach Pastor Jim."

"You did. I've been staying here. What's going on?" The younger man asked, and John felt relief. His boys really liked Caleb, because he was the closest in age to them out of all his friends.

"The boys are sick. Can you go get Jim for me?" He didn't intend for it to come out sounding impatient, but his boys needed him and he didn't have time to sit here talking to Caleb.

"Sure. I'll go get him." The background noises of the house filled his ears and he after several long minutes, Jim picked up the phone.

"Hello?" He asked groggily and John glanced quickly at his watch. It was just after two in the morning.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but I need a place to stay. The boys are sick, and they need-"

"What's wrong, John?" Jim's anxious voice filled the air.

"I don't know. I left them alone at the hotel for a few days, and when I came back, they were both sick. Sammy's real sick, but the medicine I gave Dean seems to be working. I just need a place for us to stay that's familiar while they're sick." John explained, not bothering to tell him the minute details, like the fact that he had been gone for four days when he told Dean he'd be back by the next afternoon.

"You know you're always welcome here. Anytime you're up in this area, you're more than welcome to stay in my home." He glanced back to the twenty year-old who sat in a chair in the kitchen, and lowered his voice when saying. "After all, Caleb's been here for a few weeks, and he doesn't seem to want to leave."

John chuckled, remembering what the other man was like and shaking his head. "Thanks. We'll be there in an hour or so."

"Just take care of those kids, John."

"I will." He sighed heavily as he looked back at the Impala sitting in the parking lot. "Bye, Jim."

He hung up the phone and walked back to the car, yanking open the backseat door. Dean was hunched over in the seat, with Sammy closest to the window, the tiny one wrapped in a quilt in his big brothers arms. His oldest son looked up at him with huge eyes that still glowed with a slight fever. Swallowing the feelings of fear, John knelt down on the ground so that he could see his youngest more clearly. "Is everything all right, Dean?"

"I don't know. Dad, what's wrong with him?" Dean asked, wanting his father to fix this, wanting this to be as simple as something that they could hunt.

"I don't know, but we're going to Pastor Jim's house, and everything will be all right." John's stern voice reassured his older child. He pulled the quilt closer to Sammy, making sure both boys were secure before closing the door.

In less time than John had anticipated, they made it to Jim's house. It was almost three when they pulled into the cleric's driveway. As soon as the Impala came down the driveway, both of their friends came up to the back door. John got out, grabbing Sammy from an exhausted Dean. When he turned around, panic striking his heart at how weak his baby was, Jim was right there. Pastor Jim took the youngest, who was plastered in sweat and struggling to drag in each new breath, from his worried father.

John turned back to help the still slightly sick and weak nine year-old from the car, and both men heard the same sound at almost the same time. Sammy had started a low whining noise, and his body tensed up. Jim was torn between setting the child down on the ground or running him into the house to set him on a soft surface, but the decision was already made for him. His father had already spun around, swiftly grabbing him and lowering him to the ground. Sam's body shook in a febrile seizure, as his father struggled to make a soft barrier around him.

"Sammy?" John pleaded, not knowing what to do. Sammy's temperature had to be around 104 degrees for this to be happening. "Come on, son. It'll be all right."

Dean had slid off the car seat and had gone to stand next to his father and Pastor Jim. Even though he was sick, he knew that the four year-old was much worse off. Tears of fear rushed down his face at the urgency in both grown-up's actions. It had been almost a whole minute before Sammy finally stopped shaking.

"Caleb," John called, remembering now that the crisis had passed that his oldest son was ill, too. He could get help now that there was more than just John to take care of him. He turned around for a moment, and their eyes met. "I want you to go with Caleb. Let him take care of you while we see to your brother."

"Yes, sir. Will Sammy be all right?" Dean asked with pleading eyes. He looked so frail, so tiny, and Dean fought to keep his own tears in. It was his fault that Sammy was sick, that it had gotten this bad.

"Yes, son. We'll make sure that he's okay. Go with Caleb, Dean." John ordered, noting the younger man's presence near them. He shot a look to Caleb, telling him what would happen if the child wasn't taken care of. "Take care of my boy."

Caleb came close to snickering. '_Just like a Papa Bear._' He thought. "Yes, John." He said aloud, knowing that the man was stressed out, and he did not want to irritate him.

When Dean and Caleb had gone, John turned back to Sammy. He looked dehydrated, weak, and he was making little moans of pain. After the seizure, he had completely lost consciousness. This was bad.

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Thanks for reading this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to comment any way that you'd like, whether it be praise, constructive criticism, or a question.

Happy hunting.


	2. Calming Room

Standard Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Wow, I am just overwhelmed by how many reviews I got for the first chapter. Thank you all so much.

Hope you enjoy this chapter just as much.

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John wrapped the quilt back around the small child, holding onto one hand, even as he maneuvered the blanket. Jim watched his old friend be tender with his youngest, and then ushered the small family into the house. The two men automatically went down a hall and up the stairs to a room where the boys always stayed when they came here. Caleb already sat in the bedroom, in a chair that sat between the two beds in the room, quickly tending to Dean.

"He has a fever of 100.4, but he seems like he's okay, John. I gave him some of that medicine that Jim has in the bathroom for them, so he should be good." Caleb reported, turning around to face the boy's father.

"Thank you, Caleb." John gently set his younger child down on the bed opposite of the one Dean lay on, supporting his head like he did when Sammy was a little baby. John tried to unwrap the quilt from Sammy so that he could lay him flat and under the sheets. The movement started to wake the young boy up, a low whine emitting from his lips. John sat on the edge of Sammy's bed, brushing the long locks of hair out of his face. "It's all right, Sammy. Everything's all right."

"Daddy? Where are we? What's going on?" Sammy asked, looking around frantically. His movements calmed when he saw two of the adults that had been a constant in his life. Sammy was sluggish, disoriented, and clingy. He wrapped the quilt closer to himself and stuck his thumb in his mouth to self-soothe. John looked up to the other adults, swallowing the lump that had developed in his throat.

Pastor Jim came and sat down on the end of Dean's bed, handing a thermometer to John. He took it, making sure that it was shaken down to normal, and looked back at his son. Keeping his voice as soft and reassuring as he could, he told his son what was going on. "I wanna see how hot you are, okay, Sammy?"

The boy nodded, then opened his mouth. John turned around, once again looking to the other men for help. "I need some water for him." The words were barely out of his mouth when Jim handed him a sippy cup, apparently something else he'd gotten while out of the room. The liquid was a darker color and John raised his eyebrows questioningly at the other man.

"It's Pedialyte, John. You told me you were coming, so I went and bought some. It'll keep him fighting." The cleric said, by way of explanation. Then, to Sammy he said, "It's juice, Sammy."

John muttered a "thanks," and turned back to his son when the thermometer beeped. Taking the thermometer from his mouth, he handed over the cup. He helped Sam to sit propped up some so that he could drink while he looked at his temperature. His heart stopped for a moment. Not wanting to alert Dean to the seriousness of the problem, John quietly handed the thermometer over to the other men. It read "103.8," and all three men knew there was a problem.

John glanced over to the other bed where Dean lay, watching the exchange with sorrowful eyes. This was the quietest he'd ever seen his older boy, and he wondered what exactly had happened. All he got from the exchange at the motel, was Dean telling him to take care of Sammy. "Hey, Sport. You doing all right?"

"Yes, sir." Dean answered, a slight stutter in his voice. "I'm fine, dad. Is Sammy going to be all right?"

"Yeah, Dean. He's one of us, a fighter." John spoke firmly, but the tiny voice in the back of his head spoke of doubt. He wished that Mary were here. She would know what to do, would be able to make him better.

Jim motioned for John and Caleb to follow him before leaving the room. "Can I have your cup, Sammy?" John asked, noticing that it was emptied already. Sam handed it to him, and he felt the heat in his son's hands. He leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. Turning to the other son, he instructed. "Dean, watch out for Sammy."

Dean nodded his head and laid on his side, facing his baby brother. He reached out, keeping one hand on Sammy. With a heavy sigh, their father got up from the bed and walked into the hall.

"What's up?" He asked his friends once they were all in the hallway.

"John, you should have brought him to the hospital, not here." Jim admonished quietly, not liking that the younger of his two boys wasn't in a pediatric unit.

"I don't want them going there. Social services will be called, and then I'll lose custody. I'm not putting the boys through that. They already lost their mother." John shot back, wanting them to see things from his point of view. If his little boys were away from him, then he could not protect them.

"And you're about to lose that little boy if you don't get him some help." Caleb cut in, earning a warning glare from John.

"I know what I'm doing. He's been sick before, and I've helped him get through it then." He told both men. He had sat with them when they had the chicken pox and when Sam had rubella and was colic. He had taken care of cuts and breaks and a myriad of injuries that Dean got when he was training him. They would take care of this by themselves, too.

"Not like this...has he been sick like this before?" Jim asked, subtly asking if the seizures had happened before.

"No, but unless you have a better idea, I don't know what to do." John admitted, wiping his hand over his eyes from stress.

"Joshua Wintree. When you called me, I called him. It sounded urgent on the phone. I'm surprised you didn't take them to him yourself." Jim suggested.

"He has a way of prying into things that don't concern him. I know he means well, and that he loves my boys, but I don't need to deal with that right now." John said stiffly, not relishing dealing with the man who had all but called him an unfit father in the past.

"What did happen out there?" Caleb asked, having not heard what was wrong.

"I left them alone, and came back to find them like that. I still haven't gotten Dean to tell me what happened." John said.

"They'll be all right, John. Just promise that you'll take them to the hospital if that's what Joshua tells you to do." Jim pleaded his case again.

"I can't make that promise." John turned, opening the door to go sit back with his boys.

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In "Faith," Sam mentioned calling Joshua. I took that to mean that he was a doctor or something akin to that, so I made him one in the story.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please feel free to review in any way that you would like, whether it be praise, constructive criticism, or any questions.


	3. Joshua Arrives

Disclaimer: Still don't own the boys. Goes off silently to weep

Once again, I love how many reviews I've been getting. I'm so giddy. Thank you so much.

Hope you enjoy this chapter.

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John went back in the room and found his two sons, sleeping, one of Dean's hands draped across the beds and holding onto Sammy's hand. Sammy had scooted as close to the edge of his bed as he could to make sure that Dean could hold onto his hand. John moved the chair that was up against the wall, so that he could sit and face both of his boys. The long, wavy locks of Sammy's hair were drenched in sweat and stuck to his forehead. Slight tremors shook his body, and he was making noises that were a cross between gasps and soft cries. "You'll be okay, son," John promised, not entirely sure that he could keep that promise. He put his head back against the chair, and closed his eyes. The hunt had been worse than he expected, and then the worry for his boys, combined together to make him exhausted. He knew he couldn't sleep, but he would just rest his eyes.

The door to the room creaked and John bolted up to protect his boys from the unseen intruder. "Easy, John. I'm just going to see how bad off Sammy is," Joshua told him, scooting in between the chair and where the youngest of the Winchester clan lay. John got up to give him more room.

"How long has he been like this, John?" Joshua asked briskly, assessing the little boy.

"I went away and when I came back late last night, they were both sick. I gave them Children's Tylenol, and it helped Dean, but Sammy's still like this." He rubbed his eyes, for the first time noticing that the sun was up, and wondered just how long he had slept. Without the other man noticing, he glanced quickly at his watch. 10:40. He'd slept for almost seven hours, while Sammy and Dean were sick. He silently berated himself for falling down on his duty as a father.

"Do you know what happened?" The other man asked curtly.

"No, all I know is that I got home and they were sick." John heard him take a deep breath, and prepared himself for the lecture he knew the other man would try to dish out.

Joshua held the small child up so that he could listen to his lungs, blocking out any bad thoughts he had on the situation. His friend didn't need that right now. He paused, listening closer. "John, we need to at least get Sammy to a hospital. There's only so much that I can do from here, and it sounds like he's developing pneumonia. There's a sloshing sound, like liquid in his lungs."

"What can you do from here?" John asked sternly, trying to keep control of the situation.

"You're not hearing me, John. He needs to be in a hospital, where they can do something if things take a turn for the worse. From right here, if his airway became blocked, there would be nothing we could do." Joshua took another deep breath, willing himself not to say something he would regret later. As a medical professional, he had seen what could happen, how bad something like this could be.

"He's my son, and I don't want him to go. What can you do from here?" His voice was raised slightly in a warning, and the other man backed down.

"I can start an IV, pump fluids and medicine into him, and give him some oxygen if it starts to get bad." He knew that should be all he said, but he added a quick, "Are you really going to let him die?"

John was furious. He knew when Jim told him that the other man had been called that there would be a problem, but it still made his blood boil. "I am not going to lose my son, not to this illness, and not to social services. If you do your job, it won't get that bad."

The two men had gotten a little louder, and had failed to notice Dean's eyes open. He heard what Joshua had said, and looked over at his brother. He reached out his hand again, startling the doctor. "Oh, Dean! How are you feeling?" The doctor was back in professional mode, wondering how much the youngster had heard, but not wanting to rock the boat by asking.

"I'm all right." His voice was quiet, withdrawn, and the two adults had no doubts about how much he heard. "Is Sammy gonna be all right?"

"Yes, Dean. He's really sick right now, but he'll be okay." The truth was that the toddler didn't wake up during the whole exam, just whining a little, and that was either because he was too exhausted or too sick. Until he got some fluids and medicine into the child, he wouldn't know which. "Let me check you out for a minute, Dean. We don't want both of you getting that sick."

He took Dean's temperature and listened to his lungs, trying to make sure that if this was the same thing, Dean wasn't downplaying his illness to make sure that his little brother was taken care of. His lungs sounded clear, a little congestion, but nothing that wouldn't just mean a cold. His temperature was dropping, even from what it was earlier. Dean would be okay. "Well, everything checks out, but I want to give you some medicine. Okay?"

"Okay." Dean nodded, and the two men watched as he turned his face down, not meeting either of their eyes. Something was up.

"I'm going to go get the equipment to start and IV, start getting some medicine into him." Joshua said by way of excusing himself from the room.

Joshua walked out into the hall and down the hall, down the stairs, to the kitchen. The other men sat waiting for him, both anxious to find out what was wrong with the youngest member of their tight knit group. "Well?" Caleb snapped as soon as Joshua came into the room.

"It doesn't look good. Sammy really needs to be in a hospital, but... I'm setting him up with an IV and bringing oxygen, just in case." He relayed the treatment, not wanting the others to worry too much about what was actually wrong with him. Starting to make his way to the door, he paused. "Has he always been this stubborn?"

Jim chuckled, watching the middle-aged doctor walk out to his car. When the door had closed behind him, letting in some of the mid-February cold air, he closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. Silently, he said a prayer for the Winchesters.

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Hope you liked the chapter. Please feel free to review any way that you would like. Thank you again for reading the story.

Happy hunting.


	4. Digging Deeper

Disclaimer: Still don't own them, although I spend enough time with them to own them.

The song is "All the Pretty Little Horses." I listened to the Holly Cole version while writing this chapter, and let me tell you: Most somber song **ever**. This chapter is also the longest one that I've ever written. Hope you guys like it.

Thank you so much for all the reviews. I can't tell you how nice that feels.

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Joshua came back into the room with the equipment to start an IV, and the two older Winchesters looked directly at Sammy, wondering how conscious he was of his surroundings. John had taken him to the hospital a few months before then, and when the doctor tried to put an IV in, both of them had needed to hold down the baby and comfort him so that the doctor could do his work. Hopefully, the seriousness of his sickness would work in their favor this time.

"Should I wake him to explain what's going to happen?" Joshua asked quietly, so as not to disturb the child if he didn't want Sammy woken.

"It's probably better if we don't wake him." Joshua nodded, acknowledging the boy's father. He sat down on the bed next to the little boy, and reached for one tiny hand. He paused for a moment before trying to find a vein. Dean looked away, not willing to see his brother in any pain, even if it was to help him.

"You can look now, Dean." His father's voice boomed, and Dean looked back. Sammy hadn't even stirred. He was getting worse.

Joshua moved to let John sit next to his child once more. "He's dehydrated. Once we get some fluids and medicine into him, he should be more alert. John, he should still-" He knew what could happen, and tried to plead his case again, but was cut off.

"I'm not bringing him to the hospital. You're giving him medicine. He should be all right." John's gruff voice shot back. He knew it was bad; knew that if they had better options, Sammy would be in a hospital. He couldn't lose them, though.

Jim came into the room, wanting to give the small family space, but still wanting to check on how their child was doing. During the night, as John slept, both he and Caleb had been in several times to check on Sammy's fever, and to make sure that he was as comfortable as possible. They were the first to realize that Sammy had stopped responding to their voice, had stopped opening his eyes for only a moment to look at them. The absence of those big, green eyes was a really hard blow. John was teaching the boys to be alert even when not immediately awoken, and for there to be no response was a true testament to the depth of the problem. When they got no response, each of them started going closer to the bed, trying to wake him. At one point, Caleb had even shaken him slightly, pulling the child up in his arms, and there was no reaction. He had stayed up all night, praying for the family's safety.

"How's he doing?" He asked the other two men. John turned and looked at him, thanking him for his support with a glance.

"He's gonna be fine." John answered before Joshua could speak. "He's a little sick right now, but he's a Winchester. He's a fighter." His voice caught in his throat as he looked down at his little boy, and at the IV in his hand.

"Well, I'm going to give you some space. Call me if you need anything." Joshua said, by way of excusing himself before he could say something that he would undoubtedly regret.

Jim sat down at the end of Dean's bed, handing him a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

"Thank you, Pastor Jim." Dean said, taking the soup and eating a little. He kept glancing over at his brother. They sat in silence, the men watching over the kids.

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It was a while later, when the medicine and fluids finally had a chance to work that everyone calmed down a little. Night had once again fallen on the house. Sammy was awake and alert now, but not much better. Logic said that if the little boy was alert, that he was getting a little bit better. John knew better, though. They had been having a big problem with stopping him from pulling the IV out of his hand, and there was not much that John knew to do but to hold him. He cradled his youngest in the nook of his left arm while looking at Dean. The two of them shared a moment of understanding. Even though there was recognition in those big, green eyes, the worst part of the storm was far from over.

Sammy was trying his hardest to be a big boy like Daddy always wanted him to be, but he was sniffling, sounding like he wanted to cry. The fever made him hurt and he was really hot. Every few minutes, his whole body was shaken with gut-wrenching coughs. He was getting teary and scared. There was recognition of the two people who mattered most in his world, but not much else. He didn't know where he was or what was going on. His breaths were coming out in strangled gasps. Exhaustion tried to take him, but he fought to stay awake, to make sure that his family didn't leave him. "It's okay to go to sleep, Sammy." John had been crooning to the little one for a while now.

John even resorted to singing in a low voice to him. There was a song that Mary had sang to the boys when they were babies. Something about ponies. He didn't remember all the words, but the melody he had down. If she were here, she would know what to do. She would have that touch that would make it all better. When Dean was sick as a baby, she could always tell his temperature just by touching his forehead. He never did figure that out. She could convince Dean that his skinned knee was better, just by kissing it. He never had that effect. It had to be something only Mary had.

After a long while, when Dean's eyes had even started to droop, John tried to move. Sammy clung onto his arm, refusing to let him go. His tiny fingers gripped on as strongly as his weakened state would allow him. "Sammy, I have to go get Joshua to take care of you, okay?" John asked in a voice much gentler than he would have thought possible.

"No, stay here," He practically whined out, but his breaths were becoming more shallow.

Dean got off of his bed, slowly, and moved over to sit on Sammy's bed. The bed was almost too small to hold the trio, but they sat there for Sammy for a while. Dean absently wiped his nose with his sleeve, and John grimaced, reminding himself that he too had been sick.

"Sammy, I'll be here. Dad's only going to be gone for a minute. Then, he'll be back." They both heard him laboring to breathe now, and knew that something needed to be done quickly. Another sharp coughing fit shook him, and John used the distraction to disentangle himself from the child. Dean moved behind him, cradling him in his arms, and picking up where their father had left off with singing. He had sang the lullaby to him when he was a baby, so that his brother would have something of their mother.

John quickly walked through the house, to the living room where Caleb and Joshua sat, talking about their weapons or something equally unimportant to him at the moment. "Joshua," he said loudly, interrupting their conversation. Joshua was on his feet in a second, ready to take action.

"John, what's the matter?" He asked briskly, alarm clear in his voice.

"He's having problems taking in air, and I think his fever's up." The two men stood up, one heading for the bedroom, and the other headed for the pantry where he'd left the equipment to start oxygen if it got to that point. Joshua turned around.

"Caleb, bring Dean down to the living room. We'll set up the oxygen in the room, and then you can bring him back. I don't think it's good for him to see the gravity of what we're dealing with."

Caleb nodded, wondering why he hadn't had the same thoughts. John could have kicked himself. Something had been up with his oldest, and him seeing just how sick his brother was didn't seem to be helping. He could have sworn he saw a tear on Dean's face as he left the room. They went back, each stopping when they went in the room. Dean held the toddler in his arms, rocking him slightly, and humming. Sammy had a faraway look in his eyes, and his thumb in his mouth, crying. It was heartbreaking.

John felt detached for a moment; the whole thing had a surreal feel to it. Caleb moved towards the two children, crouching down to talk to Dean. "Come on, Dean. We have to move out and give Joshua room to work. Your dad can stay with Sammy."

Dean looked up at his father, as if asking permission to leave with their friend. His father nodded, and Dean got up, stopping momentarily when Sam latched on. "Dad's right here, Sammy. No one's leaving you."

The little boy let go, and Dean got up from the bed, walking haltingly towards Caleb. He looked back as their father moved towards Sam. Reassuring himself that his brother was well taken care of, he left the room. "Let's go talk, Dean."

Doom surrounded the nine year-old, but he reminded himself that he deserved it. It was his fault Sammy was so sick. Caleb helped him walk, his own bout with illness making him weak. When they got to the living room, he sat the kid down on the couch.

"Okay, what's up and why are you acting like you did some horrible monstrosity?" Caleb cut right to the point.

"It's my fault, Caleb. I could have stopped this from happening," Dean declared dejectedly, before letting his head fall back against the pillow on the couch.

"What? There was no way you could have stopped this from happening? I can't even... what could there possibly be that you could have done differently." The look of alarm that the older man sent him made Dean look away. He knew that they would all blame him, and he wouldn't be allowed to look after Sammy anymore, but he continued with the story.

"I woke up on Saturday morning, and Sammy wasn't in the room. The door was open, and he was gone. I don't know how I missed the door open. His boots and coat were gone, and he was gone. There was this pond..." Dean faltered, and Caleb felt his stomach clench, anticipating the ending of the story. It was never good to go out on little icy ponds, because you never knew how weak the ice was. "They were skating on it the night before, all the kids, and he must have thought it was safe. I got there just in time to see the ice break. He fell, and I got him just in time. I brought him back to the hotel, and dried him off; made him warm. In the morning, we were both sick, we both had colds." The child had been fumbling with the blanket draped over the couch, the string hanging off the pillow, a magazine that was on the coffee table, just anything to avoid eye contact. Now, he looked at his friend.

"I didn't think it would get this bad." He didn't tell the man how he had ran from the hotel room, putting on his own coat halfway down the street. He didn't tell him how when Sammy had gone through the ice, his own heart had stopped, watching his baby brother struggle to stay afloat and to even breathe. He didn't tell him how he had come out on the ice, scooting along on his stomach and grabbed him by the arms, and then carried his little body back to the hotel room. He didn't tell him about how scared he had been, sitting with his brother in his arms, right next to the radiator in the room, singing him the lullaby that their mother had sang to him for hours. He didn't tell him how he had been so afraid of calling someone, that they would be mad at him; how he kept thinking his father was going to come home and save Sammy. All he saw was the failure, his failure. His brother had almost died, could still die, because he was careless.

Caleb got down on the floor beside the couch, making Dean look at him. "Dean, this is **not** your fault. Sometimes, these things just happen. I've babysat for you guys, remember? I know just how quiet the little tyke can be when he doesn't want you to know what he's up to." He chuckled a little at the memory of finding Sammy covered with chocolate after he had snuck passed him and gotten into the chocolate chip cookies. "There was nothing you could have done. You saved his life, pulling him from the icy water and getting him warmed back up. You let us worry about the rest."

Dean didn't feel much relief, and he hadn't even told his father yet. That would be the real test, to see if the man he looked up to would look down on him for screwing things up so badly. For now, he would let things go, though. "Okay."

"Do you want me to go see if you can go back into the room?" Caleb asked, already knowing the answer. As Dean nodded, he patted the youngster's knee and walked back to the room.

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I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Still like me? Please feel free to leave any kind of review that you'd like. Until next time, happy hunting.


	5. In the Dead of Night

Disclaimer: The boys don't belong to me.

Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. It means a lot to me. I'm sorry that I haven't updated in a while, butRL has been really hectic.

Hope you enjoy this chapter. It's quite a bit shorter, but I promise the next will be longer.

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Caleb walked back into the room, sad eyes taking in the little boy. There was a tube under his nose, feeding him oxygen and he was sleeping again, one hand grasping John's hand. John was bent over in the chair next to his son's bed. Joshua was still fixing the oxygen and a metal clip was attached to one of Sammy's fingers. The room was completely silent, the air thick enough to cause discomfort. "John," Caleb whispered. "Is it okay to bring Dean?" 

Their father turned around and nodded to the younger man. When their eyes met, John's eyes spoke of uncertainty and regret. He and Dean needed to sit down and talk about the guilt if either were going to move past it. Taking the opportunity to escape the awkwardness of the situation, he turned to go back for Dean. Halfway down the hallway, he heard heated footsteps coming up behind him. Joshua came and joined him, anger clear on his face. "Sammy's not doing good. His fever is up to 104 again, and he's not breathing well on his own. John's gonna screw around until there's nothing that will be able to help him." The doctor's voice practically hissed, before passing Caleb by and going down the stairs. From the bottom of the stairs, Caleb heard a creak. The bottom stair had always creaked, but it wasn't until a night like this that you really noticed it. A mop of short brown hair was the first sign that Dean had decided on his own that it was okay to come back.

"Joshua came back downstairs, so I thought...is it okay to go back in with Sammy?" His voice had a slight tremor to it, and he was leaning up against the wall for support. Even though the words were never spoken, it was clear that Dean had heard the other man's words.

"Yeah, it should be fine." Caleb said, moving to help the youngster. Dean shrugged him off and moved back down the hall himself.

Sighing heavily, Caleb walked down the stairs and out to the porch where he knew Jim would be.

It had been a long day for all of them, and as evening approached, John felt the urge to give into the fatigue. He laid down on the twin bed next to his son, being careful of the IV and oxygen. His arm wrapped around his son, and kissed him on the forehead. Closing his eyes for a moment, he allowed guilt and indecision to eat at him. There was nothing he could do that wouldn't get his children taken away from him. His silent mantra of "he's a fighter" was getting weaker with the strength in his baby's body. The only thing he had to hold onto, to make things a little better, was that he had suffered no more seizures since they had arrived.

The door opened, and John's eyes immediately opened, closing when he once more saw Dean. "Is he all right, Dad?" Dean's little voice caused the guilt to intensify and he sat up. Glancing at the toddler briefly, John made a decision. He turned back to Dean and motioned to the bed.

"Why don't you lay with Sammy for a while? The two of you fit better anyway, and I can lay in your bed for a while."

"All right." He said, climbing in next to his brother and holding onto him. John got up from the bed, and walked over to where he had left the quilt when Joshua came to bring oxygen. Picking it up, he straightened it out for a moment, and then placed it gently over his two boys, making sure that they were both securely wrapped in the warmth. Sammy stirred a little bit, moaning in his sleep and reaching out his small hand. Dean grabbed it in his hand and held on, reassuring both his little brother and himself.

"Good night, Dean. You take care of your brother." He instructed, trying to keep his voice stern, the tough authoritarian that these boys would need to keep in line during hunts when they got old enough.

"Yes, sir." Dean answered, out of instinct and a sense of duty. He snuggled in next to his brother, closing his eyes and allowing the exhaustion of the day and his previous illness lull him to sleep.

John went over to the other twin size bed, sitting on the edge of it and preparing to dig in for the night and watch his sons. They would be all right.

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Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feel free to leave any kind of review, whether it be praise, constructive criticism, or any questions.

Happy hunting.


	6. Fever Spikes

Standard Disclaimers apply. They don't belong to me.

Sorry that it's been so long since my last update. Things have been really busy. Thank you, friendly, for the kickstart. It means a lot. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews that you've given me so far, and I hope that you'll still be reading this story. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Eyes blinked once and came wide open. Something was off. His sons. Something was wrong with his son. His mind cleared very quickly when he heard it; a whine. His youngest was whining. It took a moment more to shake the cobwebs from his mind before John remembered; his baby was sick. Somehow, he had nodded off, leaned against the wall, and had missed the fever getting worse.

John jumped off the bed, and made his way quickly to the bed his son's laid in. He checked his oldest son for fever first, knowing that he would be easier to care for. Satisfied that Dean was okay, that his fever was now almost gone, he touched his babies forehead. It was coated with a layer of sweat, and he was whining softly in his sleep. The fever had been on the rise, and now seemed to be taking the toddler, eating him whole. When his father tried to move him, tried to pick him up in his arms, his body lay slack, moving freely like a rag doll.

"Sammy?" John implored, trying to wake his son. The boy continued the low whining, but did not stir. The oxygen did not seem to be working, and his breath still came out in shudders, wracking his small frame. It was very clear that all of his energy was going to the struggle to breathe. "Sammy?" John continued to plead his child to wake up, not getting a response. Dean looked on at his family, watching wide-eyed and horrified as his father tried to get his baby brother to wake up.

"Dad, what's wrong with Sammy? Why won't he wake up?" Dean asked, quietly, not liking that Sam wasn't waking up. He looked to John for answers.

"I don't know, Dean. He's sick." The man answered quickly, roughly, and then turned back to Sammy. He shook him once more, and called to him again. "Sammy?" There was no response, and he was getting frantic. He shook Sammy, gently but with force, trying to get him to wake. Nothing happened. Dean looked like he was going to cry, but no tears came down his face.

"Daddy?" His little voice questioned.

"I don't know, Dean!" John snapped, the frustration from Sammy and the older boy's persistent questions making him more abrupt than he had intended. He took one more look at the situation, and made a decision. Walking out in the hallway, he came to the top of the stairs and yelled for Joshua. His voice came out more frantic than he had meant for it to, and he waited until he heard the heavy pounding of feet on the ground floor.

John went back to his family, watching the scene before him. Dean had gotten close to Sam again, holding him in his arms as he rocked him, like he had done that morning. He watched them for a moment, and then sprung to action.

"Dean, I need you to move." He told him, grabbing Sammy up in his arms and holding him. Dean moved a few inches, sitting as close to his father as he could while the man tried unsuccessfully to wake his little brother. It was only a few moments, and the pounding on the stairs, down the hall, alerted them that the calvary was here.

Sammy shook with fever, his breaths coming out harshly. The whole group of their friends had come running when John yelled down the hall for Joshua, and now stood staring at the small family in shock. John looked up in alarm at his friends. Sammy was making loud whiny noises and his face scrunched up in pain. They all knew what was coming. Another labored breath escaped the toddler's mouth, and Joshua was next to the bed. He tried to move John's hands away, so that he could see to Sammy. The moment his hands had been moved, it was like a switch had been thrown. His whole body went stiff, head thrown back, and eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"Oh, God!" Joshua exclaimed. Sammy's body shook, caught in another febrile seizure. It was worse than the first one. Joshua started barking orders to the other men in the room, laying Sammy on his side and protecting his head from the wall and any of the objects near the bed.

"I need everybody to stay back. Somebody go get a cold washcloth. John, has this happened before?" Joshua barked.

"When we first got here, he-"

"No, John. In the past, has this happened before?" He snapped, tired of dealing with someone, regardless of how close they were, who was not helping his son. It had been nearly a minute, and it was just now slowing down. Sammy's lips were turning a blue tint as his body struggled to gain access to oxygen and failed.

"No, it's never been–I've always been able to help him." John said, realizing, just as Joshua did, how bad this was. He glanced over, berating himself as he realized that Dean was sitting there, stock still, watching what was happening to his brother. He was glancing between his father and the doctor, trying to see what would happen. Terror was clear in his eyes.

"John, he needs to go, now! There's no choice. There is nothing that I can do that will completely help him. He needs to be in a hospital!"

"You're gonna have to try, Wintree!" John bellowed, reaching a boiling point. He moved Joshua out of the way, and put his hands on his child's back, rubbing gently in circles. The seizure stopped, and John moved to pick the little one up.

"Leave him laying down, on his side like that." Joshua instructed, voice much calmer. They had both forgotten for a moment that it needed to be quiet, needed to be still. John laid him back down, and stayed there, kneeling on the floor, rubbing his son's back.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy." He cooed to the baby, moving to kiss the side of his unconscious son's forehead. Stilling like that for a moment, he willed the fever to leave the little one. _'Please, leave hm. Take me. Let me endure the fever, but leave him alone._' There was no movement. His son wasn't able to respond anymore. His color came back slowly, as he struggled to get more air into his lungs. '_Please, help him. Save him. Don't let him suffer for my shortcomings._' He knew it was useless, knew it when his wife died above his infant son's bed, but he continued to hope. Maybe it would be different, here in a priest's home.

Joshua looked at the scene in front of him, once again reigning in his anger. This was very bad now. He knew, without any kind of medical testing, that Sammy had pneumonia and needed to be in a PICU. A wash towel appeared in front of him, and he looked at Caleb, mouthing the words "thank you." Coming closer to the family, he leaned in, placing the washcloth on Sam's forehead.

"John, we need to all go have a meeting." Joshua tried to suggest, and wasn't surprised when the other man shook his head slowly in decline. "Just for a minute, and Dean can stay with him."

"Dean, come over here," John instructed. The nine year-old quietly made hid way over. "I want you to hold this to his head. Do you understand me? And call me if something happens."

"Yes, dad." Dean replied, quietly, keeping his head down. When the men left the room, he moved around his baby brother and laid down flat against his body. He draped one arm around him, making sure the washcloth stayed where it was. Closing his eyes, he laid the front of his head against the back of Sammy's head mimicking his father's actions. Sammy must be protected at all costs.

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In the kitchen, the battle had begun. Lines had clearly been drawn between the most stubborn men in the group. One of them knew what was going to happen and didn't want to see a tiny coffin with a child he knew personally in it; the other knew he needed to keep his children out of the reach of social services no matter the cost.

"John, his fever needs to come down! You should have had the boy in the hospital **days** ago." Joshua said, frantically, trying not to panic but knowing that he was too close to the situation.

Frustration marred John's features and he felt his heart beating out of control in his chest. This was his son, his baby, the one his Mary had died to protect. He pawed at his eyes with his fingertips, trying to decide what to do.

"John," Caleb said to get the older man's attention. "We could put a few sheets in the freezer, take one out every time he needs a new one. It would work to lower his fever, wouldn't it?" He looked to the doctor for confirmation of what he thought was common sense.

"I- I suppose so. It would probably have the same effect as a cooling blanket." Joshua stammered out, not quite ready to admit defeat. His purpose had been to get this child, one he loved like one of his own, to medical attention. To do that, he needed his father to have some grasp of how serious this was, instead of offering him outs that would only delay death, instead of stopping it altogether. Sammy's lungs were filling with fluid, and every time he listened to his breath sounds, the gasping became more pronounced, the slurping sounds in his chest more defined. If his friend didn't get the little one help soon, all of his efforts would be useless. "Yeah, Caleb. Go get some sheets and put them in the freezer."

After Caleb had left, Joshua brushed passed John on his way out of the room. "I hope you know what you're doing."

John just sat there for a few moments, trying to collect his thoughts. He knew that Sammy needed help, help that his friend could not provide on his own. It had gotten to a place where none of them could help, when Sammy wouldn't open his eyes to let them see brilliant hazel eyes. He couldn't understand why Dean had gotten better, his fever being helped by the Children's Tylenol that he had given him when he first found them and that Jim had given to him when they arrived, but Sammy was failing.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'll get the next chapter up quicker this time. Feel free to leave any kind of review that you would like, whether it be praise, constructive criticism, or a question. Happy hunting.


	7. Decisions Made

Standard disclaimers apply. Everything you recognize belongs to Eric Kripke, the CW, and co.

Sorry that it's been a while since the last update. I started classes up again, and that's a lot more time consuming than I thought it would be. I'll try to post the next chapter in less time than I posted this one, but please be patient.

Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it.

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John stumbled up the stairs to the boy's room, heart heavy with emotion. He walked in the room, and noticed that Dean now lay protectively around the little one, covering him with his body. They were both sleeping, wrapped up in each other's warmth. Letting it touch his heart for a moment, John went and knelt down by the side of the bed. He felt his baby's forehead to gauge the fever, and closed his eyes in defeat. There was no improvement, and his breath was still coming out in shaky gasps. He trembled under the fever, and a part of John wanted to wake him up to make sure that he was really okay. He'd never felt so terrified in his whole life, and he didn't know what to do. Grabbing the tiny hand, and holding it encased between his thumb and pointer finger, he allowed himself the moment to cry. "Oh, God, Sammy, I'm sorry," he choked out. He pulled the quilt further up, covering the boys completely so that only they're heads remained visible.

An hour later, as John still knelt down next to his boys, silently keeping watch, Caleb came into the room with a cold sheet. "John?" His voice was quiet, subdued. John turned around, eyeing the younger man.

"Hey, Caleb." He responded back, turning around to help the young man. Silently, as a team, they dislodged Dean from Sammy, and covered the toddler with the cold sheet, each praying that it would work, that it would bring the fever down and make it easier for Sammy to breathe. When they were done, and they stepped away from the bed, Dean scooted back next to his brother and held him once again, never waking up. It was all run on instincts, and there were two warring parts of John Winchester fighting to take control: pride and shame.

"Where did Jim and Joshua go?" He asked, never taking his eyes off the boys. He sat down in the chair next to the bed, and glanced over briefly at Caleb, who sat on the other bed, one leg tucked under the other. Caleb shrugged.

"Jim went out to the porch to pray and Joshua..." He sighed. "He went outside to do something. Probably distract Jim from praying. You know, he's really ticked."

"I know." John responded, not willing to say more.

"How are they doing?" Caleb asked, the quietness in the room getting to him, and making him restless.

"How does it look like they're doing?" John snapped, effectively shutting the younger hunter up. They sat in a tense silence for a few minutes before John broke it.

"Did I ever tell you how they were born?" John asked Caleb. The younger man fought to keep in the chuckle that the question had caused. He assumed the normal way. Caleb kept somber, though, listening to his mentor.

"No, you've never mentioned it before" Caleb said, keeping his eyes trained on the much too still toddler.

"Dean came out, on Mary's due date, screaming so loud that I'm sure they heard him five floors up. He was so ready to greet the world, so full of life. Sammy...he was born eight weeks too early, and he was blue. He wasn't breathing. They took him from Mary and I and restarted his breathing. It was the most frightening few minutes of my life. Then, he started breathing, and they took him from us, put him in an incubator. The doctors told us that it didn't look good, that children born that early didn't have too good of chances. We stayed at that hospital for a month. I was so afraid we were going to lose him...and he kept trying to scare me." He chuckled softly for a moment. "It's terrible, but sometimes I think it was more us fighting than him fighting. He was four pounds when he was born, so tiny. Dean would talk to him through the glass; he told him how much he was going to love being in our family, what was in his new room, anything he could come up with, really. He wouldn't let him go...kind of like now. There was an instant bond between them, and it made Sammy fight." John was quiet, watching his two boys. Sammy was becoming restless and Dean held onto him tightly, but gently. "He always took care of Sammy."

Caleb just listened, wondering why the older man was thinking about this now, and watching the two boys. Dean was laying completely still, even in sleep, and holding a restless Sammy to his chest. It almost looked like Dean was trying to feel his baby brother's heartbeat. Caleb felt sick, nauseous, and he looked at John intensely for a moment. He trusted the man's judgement, but Sammy needed to be in a hospital.

"You know, John, parents bring their children into the emergency room with breathing problems all the time. Things just happen, and any doctor that you encounter will treat you like any other worried parent. I can guarantee you that they won't think that you neglected him." Caleb tried to reason. It all made sense to the rest of them.

"What do you know? Have you ever been a parent? I've already lost my wife. I'm not losing my children," John grumbled, closing himself off Caleb.

Caleb knew he was stepping inside the bear's den, but he leaned forward and ventured on. "Look, I know that guy back in Lawrence, the one you ran the garage with, I know he called social services on you. But, oh well, John. Just because one asshole thought you were an 'unfit parent,' doesn't mean that the long arm of the law is gonna come try to snatch the kids from you every time you bring one of them to a doctor."

"Joshua–"

"–can't handle this. He told you so. You need to bring him to the hospital. If you need anyone to stand up for how much you lose these boys, Jim will do it. Joshua will do it...after he sees you take him to the hospital..." His voice trailed off, thinking of a way to clean that up. From the aggression in their last argument, it was unlikely, but still, they were friends. He shook himself, bringing himself back to the conversation at hand. "Hell, I'll do it. I'm kinda used to having the little tyke around now. I won't let anything happen to him. Please, John." Caleb pleaded his case.

"No, Caleb; I'm not risking it," John said. The discussion was closed, and Caleb felt fear. They looked at the brothers again. Sammy was struggling, trying to fight the hose that ran under his nose, in a vain attempt to draw in more oxygen and rid himself of the intrusion. Without conscious thought, Dean grabbed for Sammy's hands, stilling the motion before his brother had the chance to rip the IV out of his hand. Then, he shifted so that he was almost on top of him, and captured his hands in a tight hold, falling back to sleep.

"Will you risk him dying on you?" Caleb asked, and walked out of the room, unable to bear seeing Sammy like this anymore. He walked down the hall and down the stairs to go join the other two men on the porch.

He walked out on the back porch, and the two other men were already discussing what was going to happen. Jim turned around to face Caleb, having heard the screen door slam, worry evident in his eyes. "How are they?"

"Sleeping...I had to...Sammy needs to go...John knows what he's doing." Caleb stammered, not too sure of his footing. He had heard the little guy's breathing, and longed to pick him up and rush him to the nearest hospital. He had to trust John, though, had to know that the man knew what he was doing, because he himself had never had children.

"Damn fool! He needs to be in a hospital, where they can help him." Joshua muttered, getting more frustrated as he heard Caleb falter. These kids were the living, breathing representation of what they were fighting for, Sammy's innocence, his vibrance, his life. It killed him, because these were his kids, too. For all the times that little Sam had crawled up into his lap to give him a hug, for all the times Dean had tried to be a good soldier– these were his kids, too.

"The man thinks he's doing what's best for his boys. He'll come to his senses." Jim tried to defend his friend. Usually, he saw how devoted he was to his boys, and so this was throwing him. He understood the fear, but didn't understand the strength of it, even in spite of his son's health.

"It might be too late by then..."

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At this point, John had a lot of factors to weigh, a lot of decisions to make. Joshua was telling him that his little boy needed to go to a hospital, but if he took the tiny four year-old to a hospital, social services could take him away. There would be no way for him to protect him anymore, and that was unacceptable. Medicine was being pumped into him through an IV, fluids and antibiotics to fight the rapidly spreading infection, but it didn't look like it was helping. The recognition that had been in his eyes during the beginning of the illness had faded away, and every time he took a breath, it came out as a dragging wheeze. He could feel the heat pouring off of his baby, and little shudders every once in a while. Sammy shivered from the sheet covering him. John had to admit that Caleb's idea was probably saving Sammy's life now.

A little while ago, he had taken his child in his arms and moved them to the chair. Dean woke up for a moment, feeling the absence, and got up, sitting on the floor next to them. His head leaned against John's leg, the rest of his body propped up on the armchair. He was still sick, but he was hiding it, staying close to his baby brother. One hand snaked up and held onto Sammy, trying to keep some kind of contact with the only remnant of his mother's life.

"Dean..." Sammy's weakened voice whined, searching out for his family. John's heart broke into more fragments.

"Daddy..." The entreating voice, spoken from the depths of delirium, finally broke the man. Kissing the top of his forehead, John was ready to make his decision. If he didn't do something quickly, his baby would die tonight. The wheezing was getting worse, and when he looked down, Dean's eyes looked into his, clear and pleading with his father to do something.

"Dean, go get Joshua or Pastor Jim." He instructed the nine year-old. Dean got up, moving quickly to go find one of the other men.

"Joshua! Joshua!" He started yelling when he had gone far enough away from Sammy. He stormed down the stairs and flew across the living room, fear giving him more strength than despondency had given him on the last trip down the stairs.

He found the three other men sitting on the porch, trying to give John enough space with his boys. "Joshua, please, you have to come quick. It's Sammy. My dad told me to come find you." His voice was rapid, panicked, coming out in bursts, and all three of the men ran into the house, expecting the worst.

Coming into the doorway of the room where John sat with a limp Sammy dangling in his arms, all of them stopped for a moment. Nobody breathed, each afraid that if they moved, they would lose the little one. Finally, Joshua got down in a crouch in front of the father and son, checking Sam's vitals. He looked into the father's eyes, anger evident. If this fool didn't let them bring his son to a hospital, that would be it. He would never talk to him again if his foolishness got the baby killed.

"Joshua," John's voice was harsh, husky with unshed tears. "I need you to help me get him into the car. I'll bring him."

Suddenly, the air in the room got much thinner. It became a little easier to breathe, although they all knew just how bad things had gotten for John to admit that he needed help, that he couldn't do this on his own. Dean tried to go back into the room, to make sure that his baby brother was okay, but Caleb held him back. "Not right now, Dean. Let them work on your brother."

Dean turned to face Caleb. "I need to be in there, I need to take care of Sammy."

"Dean...there's nothing that you can do right now. He'll be okay. Just...let Joshua and Pastor Jim help your dad get him in the car. The sooner he gets to the hospital, the sooner they can help him."

"I need to be near him. I don't want to lose him like I did my mom." Dean pleaded.

"Dean." The nine year-olds eyes were trained on his baby brother, not focusing on anything else. "Dean, listen to me. You are not going to lose him. Nobody's just going to let him–" His voice trailed off, not wanting to say the word 'die' in relation to any child that young, let alone one that he'd come to count as an extended family member.

Dean understood, though, and nodded his head, giving into the man. In that split second, his father came out, carrying Sammy in his arms. Joshua trailed along next to him, making sure that the child's connection to the oxygen remained intact.

The ride to the hospital was the longest that any of the men had been forced to endure. Sammy was dying, and there wasn't much that they could do on their own any more. He laid in his father's arms, shivering through the fever and gently holding the hand that John gave him. John felt the pulse through his son's hand, through the wrist that he had gripped onto, and it reassured him that life still flowed through his youngest boy. Dean sat as close to his brother's head, one hand resting on the side of his neck, unconsciously mimicking his father's need to feel Sammy's life. He gently kissed him on the forehead and murmured soft pleas to his brother.

John met Jim's eyes in the rearview mirror, and silently told the other man to drive faster. Sammy's breathing was becoming more erratic, and he sucked in huge, distressed gasps of air every few seconds. He wasn't getting the oxygen he needed, because his lungs were fighting the infection. A thick sheen of sweat covered his face, his neck, his whole body, and he curled into his dad, seeking shelter from the abyss. The delirious mumbling had come to an end, and the silence that replaced it was stifling. Joshua was working to maintain his airway as best as he could, but they were running out of time.

Caleb was turned around in the front seat, silently watching the exchange with the family. He was glad that he had been at Jim's house, and glad that he could be there, but he didn't want to be there if the kid di–. He would never allow the thought to finish itself. This was his family. After all the times that he'd watched them, he'd grown to love them like his own nephews. He could feel the fear in the car, the confusion in Sammy's jumbled mind, and Dean's guilt. His face had never looked more frantic. He'd never tasted death like the other, more experienced hunters had, but he knew just how close the little one was.

They were almost at the hospital when they felt the air around them change. Something was happening, and all of them held their breath. John held his baby closer, not willing to leave the child more vulnerable. Dean moved closer into the circle, trying to be a human shield for his baby brother, too. Everyone in the car froze when they heard the toddler mutter "Mommy." All of their blood had turned to ice, and John hissed, "You need to drive faster, Jim."

In the next moment, there was no shutter, just a soft sigh, and then the panic that followed. "Ohmigod, no" John said, pleading with everything he knew to spare his son's life. His body was still and there was no oxygen running through his lungs. John's head lifted in grief and terror, and then realized that they were right in front of the hospital.

The car slammed to a stop in front of the emergency room doors, and Joshua flung his door open. He moved quickly, opening the door for John, who was carrying Sammy. Dean tried to follow behind his family, but Caleb grabbed his arm and shook his head. "Dean, you need to let them take care of your brother. We're gonna go in, and we're gonna wait, but you need to hang out with me and Jim for a while, okay?" He nodded his head in silent agreement, and the three of them sat down to wait.

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Over at my LiveJournal account, there's artwork of sorts for the story and the lullaby that Mary had sang to Sammy when he was a baby. Please feel free to visit. It's http/lostandalone22. feel free to review in any way that you would like, whether it be praise, constructive criticism, or a question.


	8. Miracles

Sorry that it's been so long, and that this is so short. I've been really busy with school stuff, and haven't had a whole ton of time to write. I'll try to have a shorter wait between this and the next chapter. Thanks for reading.

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John carried Sammy through the doors of the hospital, both Jim and Joshua holding the door, and making sure that all of the equipment attached to the little boy got through unhindered. Caleb stood back, holding a traumatized Dean back so that he didn't interfere with his brother. They were all shell-shocked, not sure what to do, and panicking, because it had been over a minute since the toddler stopped breathing. He was limp in his father's arms, unable to fight off the infection that was raging in his body anymore. The receptionist took one glance at the scene that met her, and stood completely frozen.

Joshua clenched his jaw in frustration and yelled "Go get the doctor, now!" This stirred her into action, and she ran to go find someone, stammering out a "yes sir" before disappearing.

The father started rocking Sammy, not feeling him breathing, wishing and hoping that he would have gotten him there just a little earlier. "Please, Sammy. Please don't leave us. Dean and I...we wouldn't..." He kissed the top of his baby's head, the soft curls moving as the child was shuffled. John looked up again, ready to yell for help again, when a team of doctor's came through the automatic doors that led back to the emergency room. He was moved aside as they tried to take Sammy, and he held on tighter, not wanting to relinquish the hold. Both Joshua and Jim were right there. Jim held John back as Joshua grabbed Sammy and moved him to the waiting stretcher. The second Sam's body was set down, the medical team, including Joshua were moving. Joshua called out vital medical history for the other doctors, and they acted. John ran behind the stretcher, not wanting to let his baby out of his sight, and knowing that Jim and Caleb had Dean. He would be okay, but he wasn't entirely certain that Sam would.

The doctors put a mask over Sam's tiny face, pumping air into him, trying to get him to breathe again. '_Please, Sammy._' John begged. They did CPR for a couple more tense minutes, everyone waiting for this little one to be okay. Suddenly, there was a sharp intake of breath from Sammy as he started breathing again, and they all took a deep breath. John sank against the wall behind him, tilting his head back and thanking whatever had been listening to his silent prayers.

"Let's get this kid on some amoxicillin and test him to see what kind of pneumonia this is." The doctor ordered, laying a hand on Sammy's shoulder before stepping away from him. Joshua turned around, shooting a glance at John when the man said "pneumonia" and John looked away, guilty. Joshua was right all along. He kept his head down, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Sammy to stop breathing again or for the doctor to tell him that he couldn't see Sam and that they were calling Child Protective Services.

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Hope you enjoyed this chaper. Feel free to leave any kind of review that you'd like, whether it be constructive criticism, praise, or a question. Happy hunting!


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